Words For Juneteenth
June 19, 1865.
Juneteeth: a day of celebration and remembrance
of my Black American roots
that nourished the ground beneath America’s feet.
My story doesn’t begin with a fairytale adventure,
but with capture.
With confusion.
With chains.
With lost family trees
And silenced mother tongues.
My ancestors
stripped of everything,
but spirit.
Today, I honor those who came before me:
The ones who laid body-to-body in ships crossing the Atlantic.
The ones who stood humiliated on auction blocks,
bought and separated with broken hearts.
Today, I honor those who hoed rice fields and picked cotton.
The ones who washed clothes, set tables, and rocked babies - you’re not forgotten.
I honor those who hid their truth beneath their covers.
The ones who learned to read in secret
and the ones who taught others.
The ones who took a stand.
The ones who ran.
And the ones who didn’t make it.
Today, I honor you,
first citizens of my kin.
My maternal great-grandparents, Elijah and Leila (born 1889.) They served as pastors in Laurens and Waterloo, SC. Their parents were slaves. I remember hearing the legacy of their faith — stories of them praying for people and they would be healed.
Today, I honor those who built communities.
The ones who gave.
The ones who prayed.
The ones who fed.
And the ones who led.
Today, I thank them for their sacrifice that freed us to become.
Artists, scientists, inventors, doctors.
Lawyers, judges, deans of colleges.
Award-winning athletes and presidents of countries.
Everyday people who own homes and raise families.
Thank you for resilience,
confidence,
and brilliance.
Infectious humor,
effortless style,
and aura that drives the whole world wild.
This Juneteenth, I honor the names, faces, and stories of those who came before me — the ones who survived slavery, built during Reconstruction, endured the Civil Rights era, and made everyday sacrifices so I could live in freedom.
I am a product of their humility, determination, and love.
My grandmother, mama, and aunt in the late 1960s.